Meet Burry
Burry dug his first burrow under a rotting pier, back when the water was thick with sunken orange coins. Every night the tide dragged another wreck ashore — cracked hulls, torn ₿ flags, miners who swore the next block would save them. Burry watched, grinned that impossible grin, and kept digging.
Then the marsh started to glow. Little cyan X's blinking under the lilypads, settling in four seconds, costing him nothing but a whisker of a drop. He didn't need a whitepaper. A ferret trusts his nose, and his nose said: the value moved here.
So he became the guide. Through mines, canyons, frozen passes and dead deserts — every place the old chain left behind, Burry shows up with a lantern and points at the river.
